


Bipartisan Efforts

by hystericalwomannovelist



Category: The Good Wife (TV)
Genre: 1x18, F/M, episode filler, production difficulties
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-28
Updated: 2014-01-28
Packaged: 2018-01-10 08:08:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,795
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1157176
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hystericalwomannovelist/pseuds/hystericalwomannovelist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She had had plenty of time to learn the lay of the land in the moments between her walking out of his life, and his walking back into hers. Door, restaurant, elevator, fuck it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bipartisan Efforts

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to all my girls, you know who you are, for the encouragement and making this ship so fun to ship! And extra thanks to Kathleen for the title, which fits anything about them, muahaha.

He watched her walk away – striding, strutting away with that sense of purpose he had learned in their short acquaintance she went at everything with. That same head-high, long-legged, defiant walk had been her trademark in flirtation, in confrontation, and everything in between. And finally, in leaving him. Maddeningly, it was just as sexy now as it ever had been.

The look on his face as he watched her go – if she had turned around to see it, which of course she did not – she might laughingly call _stoic_ again. Truthfully, he was stunned.

“Can I get you anything else, sir?”

Kurt saw the waiter's eyes dart toward her empty chair and back at him. His face contorted in a scowl. “No. Thanks. Bill it to my room.”

He signed the check and stood to leave, the last beer she had poured for him barely touched. It didn't appeal to him, just now, drinking alone. He figured it would only feed into her idea of the cowboy, and as far as he was concerned, he was nothing of a cowboy.

In a way, he could understand her reasons for leaving. As different as they were from start to finish – lifestyle, class, income, interests – none of that seemed to register with her. Or perhaps on some level it all excited her as much as it did him. But not for a moment did she seem to be able to look beyond her values. He respected that. And then again he did not. Values mattered, but nothing and no one was that black and white.

He was not a cowboy, god damn it. He was not the devil incarnate. He was a man she would not allow herself to know. He was a man who wanted her. A man who could, if she would let him –

“Hello.”

He nearly ran straight into her, blinded by his frustration, as he turned into the hotel lobby. He struggled to keep his face impassive. He felt himself doing it. Perhaps he did, after all, put on something of a pose.

“Hello,” he returned softly, allowing the corner of his mouth to turn into the slightest smile.

She bit her lip to keep from smiling in return, an irrepressible smile that she could not master, quickly breaking into that huge grin he knew so well already, loved so well already, that seemed so hard-won but freely given, lighting up her whole face.

She ran a hand through her hair – that long-fingered, elegant hand of hers was all he saw, oblivious to how uncertain she was. Even when uncertain, she was more in control of her world than anyone he had ever known. 

“I didn't want to leave things that way,” she said, rolling her eyes at how lame it sounded once it had been voiced, not at all what she had intended as she paced through the lobby, from the restaurant to the door and back again. 

He nodded, his eyes all thinly masked adoration. “Do you want to talk?”

“No.” She laughed, her eyes not quite meeting his – embarrassment at her own behavior again, more than an accusation against him. “It never seems to go well, when we talk.”

“Then...” 

She swayed closer to him, her chest nearly brushing against his, but not quite. Her cheek almost grazed his, but she turned away.

Her hand bumped against his, perhaps an accident, perhaps intentional. He took her hand, boldly, silently, _stoically_ if she liked. He wrapped his hand around hers and squeezed it, his eyebrows raised, a question.

She returned his gaze finally, that confident smile returned to her face.

“Do you want to?” She asked.

“Yep,” he said again, and she laughed, that full-throated honest laugh of hers, falling against him until he could feel her breath against his neck. 

Perhaps she could set it all aside.

Perhaps they could just be themselves. Just be together. Just be, tonight.

 

~~~

 

Diane squeezed his hand and then let it fall, stalking toward the elevator. She had had plenty of time to learn the lay of the land in the moments between her walking out of his life, and his walking back into hers. Door, restaurant, elevator, fuck it.

She pressed the button, _up_ , and turned around to face him, her back against the wall. They were close enough to being alone now, as she lifted her eyes to his with a definite look of mischief. Not quite alone, but they were all that mattered. She could compartmentalize, surely. Out there, she was many things: tough, fair, elite lawyer; staunch supporter of liberal causes; role model and mentor to younger generations. The elevator chimed and the doors slid open. Here, she was a woman who wanted him. A woman who could, if she would let herself –

“Excuse me.” 

The elevator doors opened and a man elbowed his way between them, his face grim, clearly on his way to a less enjoyable evening than they had in mind.

Still smirking at him, Diane backed into the elevator, backed herself into a corner, one hand outstretched for Kurt to follow her. He did; only a moment's hesitation and he was at her side.

“Hold it!”

Diane froze, as if she had been caught doing something wrong. 

Kurt merely turned and held the door for another man in a suit, briefcase in hand, an apologetic smile on his face.

“What floor?” Kurt asked.

“Ten. Thanks.”

Diane sank deeper into the corner. Same floor. Ten long lonely storeys, at least, before she would feel his hands on her. 

Kurt pressed the button and leaned against the wall, at her side, but a respectable distance apart. 

_Two. Three._ Her fingertips reaching devilishly out for him.

_Four. Five._ His hand at her hip, snaking around her waist.

_Six. Seven._ She leaned into him, laughing silently against his shoulder.

_Eight. Nine._ His hand drifted toward her ass. Settled there.

_Ten._

The elevator doors slid open and they let the other man step out first. He seemed in a rush to get away from them, and Diane laughed again, carefree now. They were not fooling anyone, and who cared? Kurt's room was down the same corridor and they stayed a few steps behind the other man. They kept up this flimsy display of civility, Kurt guiding her, his fingertips lightly brushing her hip, the small of her back. 

And then his door.

 

~~~

 

Once on the other side she backed herself against the door again, this time pulling him hard against her. She wouldn't wait a moment more for civility's sake or any other force on Earth. Her hands went to his face and grabbed him, demanding his kisses. _God, she loved kissing him._

He pulled back just long enough to tease her, “What do your Democratic ancestors have to say about this?”

“I don't care,” she shook her head, smiling. “I'm not listening anymore.”

She pulled his face to hers again, locking him there now, her arms around his neck. His lips moved over hers slowly, savoring her, everything attentive, deliberate. He was good at this. Or maybe they were just good together.

She closed her eyes as he kissed a line down her neck and across her shoulder, his fingertips tracing the edges of her dress but maddeningly careful not to dip beneath it. (Suddenly she wished she had worn something a little more low-cut.) He made his way back up to her ear by the same path, brushing her hair aside and whispering, “Do I kiss you like a right-wing nutjob?”

She sighed, closing her eyes. “If you do, I should have tried this a long time ago.”

He looked up, kissed her lightly on the lips again, pulling back slightly with a wry smile. “You've seriously never been with a man you disagreed with before?”

She sighed again, this time in frustration. “You seriously want to talk _now_?”

With a shove she moved past him, stalking into the room with that characteristic stride. She shrugged out of her coat and threw it onto the chair in a show of anger, but when she turned around again he saw she was laughing.

“I don't necessarily want to talk,” he smirked back at her, following suit and removing his sportcoat. “Just thought I might be able to goad you into admitting you were wrong.”

Hands on her hips, she let out an exhalation of disbelief.

“Maybe get you to _apologize_ ,” he said, drawing out the word as he walked toward her.

“Apologize? _Really_?” Her incredulity was exaggerated as she threw her arms around his neck, pulling him closer again. “What on earth for?”

He considered his words carefully. “Premature judgment.”

“I know your views; it was hardly premature.”

“You don't know the rest of me,” he said gently, leaning in to just brush her lips with his. “Do my views keep you from wanting to know me?”

“No,” she whispered, disarmed by his unexpected seriousness. She combed her fingers through his hair, brought his forehead to rest against hers. A gesture of reassurance, of sudden tenderness.

“So did you come back because you thought you might want to get to know me, or just for this?” He pulled back, looking her straight in the eye again. “Either way is fine, I just--”

“Both,” she cut him off, quickly, definitely, smiling back at him. If it was the first time she had realized it, she was certain it was true.

“I'm glad.”

She grabbed his face with both hands and pulled him in to kiss her again, needy as before, but now complicated by some new warmth, a connection. She pressed herself against him, grateful he took the hint and took tighter hold of her hips. She pulled his shirt roughly from his trousers, starting to work at the buttons, never breaking the kiss. _Both_ was the true answer, but _this_ was a hell of a lot easier to deal with just now.

She tugged his shirt down and free of his arms and made to rid him of his undershirt too, craving contact with an expanse of his skin, but he took hold of one of her arms, dancing her around to face the other way. He moved her hair to one side and kissed the back of her neck lightly. She could feel his breath against her skin, slightly ragged. Whether it was from the kissing or anticipation of what would follow, it made her smile smugly. The smile vanished the next moment, her own breath catching in her throat as he ran both hands slowly over her breasts, her sides, her hips, and back up again.

“This color looks beautiful on you,” he murmured against her skin. “Shame to take it off.”

She opened her mouth to say something, but no witty rejoinder sprang to mind this time, which seemed to amuse him greatly. “Oh, just unzip me,” she snapped, but the command resolved into a throaty laugh again.

“All right.” He did as he was told, but as slowly as possible, the index finger of his other hand tracing slowly down her spine as he exposed inch by torturous inch. By the time he reached her lower back he could feel her shiver under his touch.

He continued to kiss her neck, her shoulder blades, everywhere he could easily reach without actually removing the dress. He slid his hands under the fabric, the palms of his hands running over her stomach, hips, sides. His fingertips toyed with the edges of her panties and bra, but moved on to caress already exposed skin every time she thought he'd go further. 

Her little noises of frustration only encouraged him to continue teasing her.

“Kurt – damn it--” She sighed and laughed again, resigned to his pace. She could have whirled around and grabbed him at any moment, but this was too delicious.

He withdrew his hands and for a moment she felt almost bereft of his touch, until she realized as he pulled her back to him he had removed his undershirt. He moved her dress just far enough off her shoulders to press his naked chest against her back and the contact – _finally_ – made her gasp. Followed a moment later by the realization that his hardening cock was now pressed against her ass and she couldn't stop a soft, low moan from escaping her throat.

Immediately, she laughed at herself again.

“I love the sound of your laugh,” he said softly.

“I don't know why I'm laughing so much—”

“You're enjoying yourself.”

“Y-yeah...” she managed, distracted by the touch of his fingertips barely grazing the ticklish spot on her side.

“It's sexy. I thought so the first time I met you. You couldn't stop laughing at me.”

“I'm sorry,” she laughed again, remembering how she had teased him. 

“Don't be. I like it.” 

He kissed his way across one of her shoulders until the dress slid off it. With a flick of his finger, the other side slipped off as well. She shrugged her arms free of the sleeves, letting it fall to her waist, her breasts exposed to him. He leaned over her shoulder and she turned her head to kiss him again, an awkward slanted kiss full of need. He reached around to cup her breasts in each hand, his long fingers stroking the exposed skin, again only teasing at the edges of her bra.

She had some leverage, too, now, and ground her ass hard against his cock to encourage him to move faster. He grunted into her mouth, apparently taking the hint, and began working at the clasp of her bra. Fumbling at it for a moment, he managed to undo the hooks, only to get it caught at her elbows in their jerky, uncoordinated movements. Finally she wrenched the thing free of her arms, threw it to the floor and whirled around to face him. Enough prelude.

They kissed and touched one another freely now, the rest of their clothes discarded in a flurry. She shimmied out of her dress and kicked her heels across the floor. She yanked his belt buckle loose and pulled his trousers down roughly. They stumbled toward the bed, half-tripping over hastily thrown garments, half-tripping over each other, and fell to the mattress one after the other.

They kissed and touched and explored one another, in no particular rush now. She didn't know when she had ever enjoyed just _kissing_ someone so much. Something about his kiss had made it impossible for her to leave without another. Something about that kiss had made it impossible for her to leave at all. And now this: she needed him to keep kissing her like she needed air to breathe. _Yes, God, touch me there, yes, I want to feel the weight of you, yes, that feels good but for God's sake don't stop kissing me._

They laughed into each other's mouths when they fumbled, and they moaned into each other's mouths when it was good, and it was all too intimate but it was all so right.

“C'mere,” he growled low, moving down the mattress until his back was against the headboard, his hand stretched out to her. She followed, grinning, settling herself in his lap, her knees on either side of his hips. He bent his knees and wrapped his arms around her to enfold her. 

“Good idea,” she purred, sitting up on her knees, looming over him, lowering herself just enough, at first, to kiss him and kiss him. He ran his hands up and down her back and she could feel his lips smiling against hers and she thought, after all, they were on the same page.

His hands roamed lower to her ass and her thighs, gentle fingertips exploring the soft skin between her legs, and she forgot herself mid-kiss, only breathing hard and irregular into his mouth as his fingers parted her folds, his thumb finding her clit.

He broke their kiss and leaned back to watch her. She was too caught up in processing the sensation of one finger, then two, inside her to notice. She closed her eyes and bit down hard on her lip and he thought she was as magnificent and in control like this as she was at anything else he had seen her do, moving up and down on his fingers, grinding her clit against his hand.

He removed his fingers and kissed her again when her eyes fluttered open, his hands moving to her waist and guiding her gently down. She reached down to grasp his cock, positioning him beneath her, enjoying in turn his gasp of pleasured surprise at how good it felt to have her hands on him. She spread some of her wetness over him, gratuitously squeezing and pumping him as she did so.

Finally, both pushing against one another, he was inside her. They kissed again, sweetly at first, just holding one another, enjoying the feeling of fullness, of being surrounded. Then they began to move.

Now, naked and entwined, they did not seem so starkly different; they worked well together; they _clicked._ Even when they fought against one another -- different tempos, different rhythms, arms jostling each other, faces colliding awkwardly – they fell back into sync with laughter and kisses and faintly there was the thought: _it could work, just like this..._

The thought, all thought, was chased away again by the more immediate tumult of taste and touch and building orgasm, coaxing noises, cries of each other's names, unintelligible sounds as first she and then he came and collapsed against one another.

They held on for long moments, exchanging half-conscious little kisses, half-sensate little touches, until their breathing returned to normal. With a sigh, Diane disentangled herself from him, and moved to sit on the edge of the bed.

She took his hand and squeezed it, giving him a small smile. “That was really nice.”

He raised his eyebrows slightly at this judgment, but nodded, returned her smile. “It was.”

She stood and started to walk away, calling over her shoulder, “Just need to use the bathroom.”

He watched her go and felt she was walking out of his life again, head high as always. There was a sadness to her smile, a sudden return to the brusque manner, that he couldn't understand after the loveliness of it all.

After she had cleaned herself up, Diane confronted her own reflection. Took in her naked body, felt his hands all over her again, caught herself smiling at the thought. Then she willed the thought away, erased the smile, fixed her hair as well as she could. There was no reason this shouldn't end as the others had, now that it was over.

She walked back into the bedroom, flashing him a quick emotionless smile as she set about picking up her scattered articles of clothing.

He propped himself up on his elbows, watching her in disbelief. “You're going?”

“Well, I can't stay here,” she said simply, as if it were the most obvious and basic fact. 

“You can if you want to.”

She paused for a moment. “Do you want me to?” Before he could answer, she looked away, resuming collecting her things. “I really can't.”

“I get it,” he said, trying to keep his tone light. “You don't do sleeping with the enemy.”

She whirled around, shaking her head. Let him think anything, but not that. “I really wasn't thinking that, Kurt. It's not about your politics.”

“Then you're over it?”

“Yes,” she said, unconvincingly. “Over it enough. I just... prefer to wake up in my own bed.”

“Okay.”

She shook her head, conflicted. Part of her wanted him to press the issue. She would have been furious if he had. The truth was she wanted to stay, this time, with this man, and she didn't want to admit it to herself or to him.

She went back to the bed, sat on the edge again looking down at him, felt them both struggling to keep up a mask of indifference. 

“ _Do_ you want me to? Stay?”

He looked at her for a long moment, considering what this question was really about. It astonished him when he saw it, something in her hard gaze that faltered. He realized she felt scrutinized, under his judgment. _Did she really think there was any chance he would say no?_

“I do,” he said, simply. “If you want to.”

She laughed in response, that open, honest, wonderful laugh of hers that went straight to his heart. It wasn't the reaction he had expected, but he understood it, he thought – how silly it all was, these games, and even two secure adults, sitting naked before one another, would play them. How silly all the baggage and hangups were. They wanted the same thing; forget all the reasons why and why not.

“Maybe for a little while,” she said finally, causing him to chuckle wryly. _All right. We'll set aside some of the games for now. That's progress._

She dropped her clothes to the floor again and climbed over him back into the bed. He pulled up the sheets and they settled under them, silently negotiating pillow placement and amount of covers and finally position. He held out his arm and she only hesitated for a moment before curling up at his side, leaning her head against him.

He wrapped his arm around her waist and she played idly with the sparse hairs on his chest, gradually relaxing into this embrace. It had been some time since she had wanted a man this way, but longer still – she could not actually remember when – since she had wanted a man to hold her afterward. It was strange. But a good sort of strange.

She lifted her head suddenly, propping it up on one hand, looking down at him. “I have a hard time falling asleep away from home. I'll probably leave at some point in the night.”

“Okay,” he said simply.

“I just don't want you to think it's anything personal. It isn't.”

“Okay,” he repeated.

She gave him a little shove of mock annoyance, but lowered her head to kiss him, a deep, lingering kiss that trailed off sweetly.

“Okay,” she echoed, returning her head to his chest.

She snuggled against him and he pulled the covers over her again, idly tracing a path up and down her side with his fingertips, a soothing, repetitive gesture. He reached over to turn out the light on the other side, careful not to disturb her too much now that she was comfortable. She burrowed in closer. Moments later he was aware of her breathing somewhat deeper, barely audible.

“Diane?” he ventured softly. 

No reply.

She had fallen soundly asleep in his arms.


End file.
